


The Domestic Approach

by felixies



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1453705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixies/pseuds/felixies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Sherlock have been friends for years. You helped Sherlock when he was at his lowest. He has saved your life more than once. Your friendship has not wavered until Sherlock became John's best man. Funny how a wedding can bring out the emotions of even the most stoic of people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planning a Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still drafting all this, but I'm curious what you all think of it. I'm aware that it's probably more dramatic and less comedic than my other stories. So comments are needed. I don't have an ending yet, so we'll see what happens.

"Be sure to pick up the napkins. I need to have samples for Mary and John to look at. SH."

You look down at the text Sherlock gives you as the taxi takes you to 221B Baker street. You can't believe how easy it was for you to agree to helping him. Ever since Sherlock found out that he is going to be John's best man, he has you running all over London to get him things to prepare for the wedding. It all started out innocent weeks ago.

You were eating your lunch at Speedy's when you get a text. "What color would look good on a dress? SH" You can't help staring at the screen for a minute processing what he just asked you. He has asked you random questions before, but never about the opposite sex.

"Why? Thinking of getting one?" Feeling a bit proud of your text, you take a sip of your coffee. A minute after you send the text, he appears in front of you, sitting on the other side of the table. He always does this, appearing without you telling him where you are. "You can at least tell me when you're coming," you complain.

"You still haven't answered my question," Sherlock responds.

"I don't know. Purple I suppose. I would wear purple."

"There are different shades. I need specifics." Sherlock asks you.

"Well, I personally would wear dark purple, like your shirt," pointing to his chest.

"What about for a wedding?"

Confused about his line of questioning, you set your fork down, "What are you really asking me?"

He answers, "John just dropped by and wants me to be his best man." You notice the slight terror in his eyes. "I need to prepare for the wedding. It's my job." You see his hand twitch, his fingers drumming on the table.

You place your hand on top of his. "First of all breathe. Second of all, I'm sure they'll have a wedding planner. You don't have to do everything for them. Third, lilac would be a good color for a dress. Already have bridesmaids on your mind?" You chuckle at the thought, but see Sherlock squint his eyes.

"If you're referring to what appropriate color for them to wear so they don't outshine Mary, then yes, I do have them on my mind." Clearly he missed the point.

"Well I'll be here to help you in case you get overwhelmed. Really, whatever you need, let me know." You give him a warm smile, him mirroring yours.

 

That was six weeks ago. You trample up the stairs of Sherlock's flat, bags and boxes in tow. As you enter the den, John and Mary quickly rush over to you. "Oh dear! You carried this all by yourself?"

Breathing out of exhaustion, "Well it would have been nice if someone came with me to pick up the stuff, but apparently he is too busy planning out the guest seating for your reception." You throw mental daggers at the back of Sherlock's head as he stares at the chart. As John scolds Sherlock for not being a gentleman going along, you and Mary are in the kitchen unloading all the supplies.

"Thanks for helping. I know that we didn't make you a part of the wedding party, but all the things you've done for us is leaving me guilty," Mary admits. You can't be upset because of her and John. They haven't done anything wrong.

"Please, Mary. It's quite alright. I'd rather do all the work now and relax at the wedding than the other way around," you respond. You stare at Sherlock until Mary bumps your shoulder.

"Looks like someone has eyes on dear Sherlock," Mary teases.

You are quick to react, "It's not like that! I'm helping so that he doesn't freak out. He doesn't act like this, especially avoiding cases just to focus on your wedding. He's scared about losing John. He never said, but I can tell." Mary smiles at you, so concerned for his well being.

"Let me talk to him. I'm sure I can talk him down," Mary reassures. She walks over to Sherlock and John. "Dear," talking to John, "Would you mind helping out in the kitchen?"

"Of course." John heads over to the kitchen slightly confused at what is going on. When he looks back at Mary, she silently signals him to close the partition. As soon as he does, you look up at him. He replies, "She just needs to go over some things with Sherlock. Wouldn't take long. Can I help you with anything?"

 

With you and John in the kitchen, Mary is quick to change her demeanor, smacking Sherlock on his shoulder.

"Ow! What was that for?" he complains.

"Don't you see how hard she is working? She is running around town doing all this work for the wedding and she is not even in the party."

"She volunteered her services," Sherlock comments.

"She is doing this for you, you clot," Mary says frankly. "You better thank her or else I'm telling John of all the things she has done for you. He doesn't know about the hours she spent scouting all the different churches. She gave up her holiday for you. John will not be as forgiving as I am," she threatens.

"Well what do I do? What do normal people do?"

"I don't know. Just do something that makes her happy that she can only get from you," Mary suggests. She leaves Sherlock as she heads for the kitchen. She opens the partition with a smile on her face. "Let's go, future husband. We don't want to be late for the cake testing."

"No we wouldn't dare be late for food," John responds with a smile.

Before they leave, Mary gives you a hug saying, "Let me know if Sherlock doesn't do anything to say thanks. I'll be sure that he does. Promise."


	2. Gift

Watching John and Mary leave, you walk back into the den, seeing Sherlock fiddling with his phone. You try to speak, but you don't know what words to say. Tired and longing for the comfort of your bed, you start to gather your things and head towards the door.

"Where are you going?" you hear, turning around and seeing that Sherlock has connected his phone to a speaker. He presses a button and music starts playing. He walks over to you and gently takes your bag to place on the sofa. He takes your hand and leads you to the middle of the den. "Dance with me." He places his other hand on your waist. Unconsciously, your hand place on his shoulder.

As he starts swaying, you can't help asking, "What is this all about?" You stumble as he leads you in a turn.

"You don't know how to waltz?" he asks. You look down in shame. 

“You know I’m a horrible dancer, twinkle toes.” Your face tells him everything.

 "It's okay. I'll teach you." You look back up, stilted at his kindness. You expected a scolding, especially since he loves to dance, but he starts teaching you the steps. Over the years you have known him, there have been a few times where he has shown kindness. It doesn’t come often, but when it does, it reminds you that he is a great friend.  A few minutes of staggering and stepped toes, you start to get the basic moves down. "It's still rusty, but you're getting better."

"What’s with the impromptu ballroom dance?" you joke.

"I just thought you needed a breather from running around all day. Also, I need to start working on my gift to John and Mary. People usually buy trivial knick knacks for the new home."

"But silverware and blenders are not your style," you deduce. He chuckles.

"No. Never liked the domestic approach. I want to give something personal. I want to give them their first dance as a married couple."

Hearing this sweet gesture leaves you smiling. You gather from what you two are doing and his musical hobby. "You want to write a waltz for them."

Sherlock confirms, "I need inspiration. I can't just write it out of thin air. This one needs to be special. I need your help."

"How?"

"Tell me what love is." Sherlock's blunt nature is so surprising, especially with stuff as basic as love and affection. "The order of the notes need to be perfectly lined up with the feeling of love."

"Surely you can think back to your own experience. How do you feel about Irene?" you ask, trying to jog his memory. His eyes dart away, flinching at your mention of her name to him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to sour you." You add, "I don't know what I can tell you, but I'll certainly try," you respond.

He pulls you closer to him. The height difference is more pronounced as you look up at him, his eyes so piercing. You feel secure by the support of his hand on your waist as he guides you in the waltz. "Tell me a time when you were in love. Describe how you felt, physically and emotionally. What you two did together," he requests. You blush profusely at his boldness. 

You know he didn’t mean it that way. You can't ever get over his innocent actions. You start, "Actually, I'm in love right now. I don't know how he feels. He probably doesn’t really see me that way."

He looks at you with intrigue as the soft waltz music continues. "Tell me how that feels.”

"It's painful at times, knowing that he probably wouldn’t love me back if I ever admit it to him."

"Then why still love him? Just tell him and ask if he loves you back." Feeling him gaze into your eyes, you try your hardest not to reveal your affections.

"You say it like it’s easy to do. I don’t want to ruin what he and I already have. It seems like if I say something, he’ll either dismiss it right away, or freak out. I’ve only seen him in love once, I think. I just wish that I can be that way to him like how he was to her. I kind of doubt it."

“That doesn’t make any sense. All emotions - in particular, love - contradict reason that I hold above all things.” Sherlock’s admission confirm your long-held suspicion.

You lost your chance to say anything more about it. “Yeah, I figured you would say something like that.”

He moves his hand to the small of your back. "I'm going to dip you, so don't get scared." As he dips you, your eyes meet. You flush at how close he is to you. His eyes dart side to side, watching your every reaction. You don't know how you see it, but a slight tinge of color appears on his face. As you both stand back up, he lets go and turns off the music. “I think that’s enough for now. You look tired. I’ve been keeping you here for too long. Go have a rest.”

You wonder if you might of said something wrong, but letting it go, you grab your bag and leave.


	3. Best-Man Speech

It is a few weeks later and you are sitting on a pew inside the church watching John and Mary get married. You look over to your right and see Molly wiping away her tears. You look over to your left and see Greg sniffling a bit, keeping his composure together. You watch Sherlock up there, looking so well put together. You smile a bit, but trying hard to keep it down. The last few weeks have been hell. You still ran errands here and there for John and Mary, but not as much as you were doing earlier in the wedding planning. You didn't want to be in the same room as Sherlock after he admitted his opinion on love.

As you walk out of the church, you see Sherlock and Janine chatting. Mary has told you about her. You two even met over lunch, and you realize how much of a match her and Sherlock are together. Throughout the day you slowly recognize and start to distance your feelings for Sherlock the more you see him relaxed and flirty with her. Maybe he just didn’t find the right person to love until now. "At least he'll be happy," you softly admit, finishing the glass of wine in front of you.

"Slow down. The reception just began," Greg tells you as he downs his beer. You laugh at how easily he doesn’t follow his own advice. You catch him staring at Molly in the distance planting kisses on Tom's face. Greg's jaw clenches at the sight as he starts flagging down a server. 

"You're one to talk, Gregory," you mention. "Relax okay? Molly is not going to marry Tom. He may look like Sherlock, but he is too boring for her. I give them another month before she calls it off, so don't worry. You still have a chance." You see the shock on his face, his mouth dropped so low, close to how he looked when he saw Molly at the Christmas party a few years back. 

"I never told anyone. That...I don't even...how do you know?" Greg whispers. You give him the biggest smile. You can always rely on him to lift your spirits. A server refills yours and Greg's drinks. He lifts his glass to you. "To love." 

You clink his drink with yours. "To love."

As Sherlock starts his best man speech, your mind immediately flashes back to a week ago inside his den.

 

"Seriously, Sherlock? You can't have a speech this long!" You stare at the large stack of cards on the table between you and him. You drink your tea as you start to look at the notes he wrote. "I mean, how are you going to carry all this around? It's excessive."

"I'll have a coat pocket," he comments.

"Yeah, but not two inches thick. Cut it down!"

"Every part of information that I included is necessary for the speech!" he defends.

"Then prioritize!" you shout. You start discarding the cards those that don't matter. Your brash movements freaks him out as he gathers the cards falling onto the floor. 

"What the hell are you doing?" 

"Editing," you simply say. He lunges for the cards, but you start running away from him. He chases you, trying to grab them, but your swiftness leaves him out of reach. Cards are scattered throughout his flat. "I don't know why you have to give the details to every single case. Just list them and talk about the most important ones." You stop as you read one particular card. He nearly runs into you as you turn around to show it. His eyes widen as he tries to put on a composure.

Out of mischief, you start, "People assume that John just tags along on my cases, making me look good with his naivety and adoration for me. Although most of that statement is true, he does have a life of his own with his own thoughts. All of his fleeting girlfriends are on point with this statement. They did not provide the same kind of thrill I give him. They were nonetheless his choices of a dating partner. Good thing they never stayed for long."

"It’s a work in progress! Give that back!" he shouts. 

"This is mean to mention his past girlfriends during his wedding! You don't need this." You rip the card up. 

"Okay, that's it." Sherlock swipes his cards out of your hand and makes sure that the cards are still in order. "If you're going to scold every single thing about it you can just leave." He looks back at you clutching your hand. He walks over to see, but you quickly hide it. "What happened?" he asks.

"Nothing. Just a scratch." You rush over to the kitchen, grabbing something from a drawer. He follows you and sees blood on your hand. He grabs it and sees a cut. "Look, it's fine. Nothing life threatening," you reassure. He doesn't let go and starts mending you. 

"I hurt you." His voice is so quiet. 

"You don't have to be dramatic. It's just a paper cut." You wince at the touch of rubbing alcohol he dabs on. "I'm sorry I made fun of your speech. Don't worry. You'll do fine."

He stares at the cards on the floor and the stack sitting on the table. "I'll cut the speech down."

 

Your mind flashes back as you see the very stack of cards out and in Sherlock's hands. The both of you were able to cut the number of cards down exponentially. The guests start to grumble as he starts looking through the cards. They don't know how grateful they should be that you intervened. The speech goes on for a while, hearing his recounts of the stag night, the poison giant, and the elephant in the room. You even grumble at Sherlock's attempt at being interactive with the guests, asking for volunteers during his recount of the bloody guardsmen. You even hear a slight chuckle from Greg as Tom attempts to provides a deduction. 

Things turn sour when you see Sherlock pacing through the crowd. "Something is wrong," you whisper. Then you hear two words you never wanted uttered again.

"Vatican cameos," Sherlock inserts in his rant. You quickly look over at John, both of you lock eyes. You two know that phrase all too well. You want to pull Sherlock out of the room to ask what's going on, but you feel his hands settle on your shoulders.

"As a mental exercise, I’ve often planned the murder of friends and colleagues. This lovely lady here would be the most difficult to murder. Quick on her feet and ever clever. Her weakness is, luckily, myself. Line my lips with a thin plastic that has quick-acting poison and give her the kiss of death. Probably the most poetic and romantic way to die."

You are stunned at his words. You never admitted your feelings directly to him. Hearing him announce all this to practical strangers and your friends is the most embarrassing and humiliating thing he can do to you. As Sherlock continues his rant, you look over at Mary and John, both seeing your shocked face. The next few minutes feel like forever trying to keep yourself together, your eyes refusing to meet anyone else's, wanting desperately to leave the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included a slight reference to Doctor Who, specifically about River Song and the poison on the lips.


	4. The First Dance

The toast finally comes. Sherlock, John, and Mary walk out of the reception hall. You follow them, but Mary stops. “I want to help,” you insist.

“You can help by stepping out and take a moment to collect yourself.” You don’t want to argue with the bride, so you walk outside.

You walk through the garden, thankful that everyone else is still in the reception hall. You take a seat at the garden's edge watching the sun set. The silence and the solitary is just what you needed. Perhaps you are uneasy of too much silence because you start humming a tune. It takes you a bit to realize what you are singing. Your mind wanders to a memory from yesterday.

 

"Please, I need you to get my dress from Sherlock's flat. I know that you're trying to avoid him, but I need to get it ready for the trip tomorrow." Mary begs you as you get ready at your place.

"And why can't you do it yourself?" you ask over the phone.

"John is staying at Sherlock's today and I don't want to jinx anything. Pre-wedding ritual I suppose."

"It's fine. I'll head over in a bit."

"Thank you! You are sparkling!" Mary excites. 

You walk into his den, empty. You think you can get away with entering, hoping that Mary’s dress is in John’s room, but disappoint when you don’t see it there. Luckily you don’t see him around and eye the dress bag hanging by the windows. Ready to head out your eye catches Sherlock’s music sheets on its stand. You see the words, “Waltz, for Mary and John” written on the page. As you set the bag back down you start humming the tune. The most you have seen the last time you were in the flat Sherlock had the first few measures written out. The more you hum the tune, the more in love you are with it. “He’s done it,” you whisper when you finish. 

A breeze blows in through the window, the page moving. Scared, you push the paper far into the clip of the stand. You see the page behind the familiar sheet and see the words, “For Her” written on top. You carefully walk far enough into the room to see that Sherlock’s bedroom door is closed. Quickly, you read over the intriguing tune. Assuming that “her” is Irene Adler, you start humming the tune. You heard it once before when he finished writing it, so it’s curious why it’s still near the front of the stand. 

There is something odd about the tone of the music. It sounds nothing like the one he wrote about Irene. You distinctly remember seeing him write “The Woman” on top of the piece. This one is an incredibly sweet and simplistic waltz. You start swaying as you hum at catchy tune. Before you can make it to the end of the piece, you hear the sound of a door opening. You quickly put the sheet music back and hurriedly try to make your escape. Just when you thought you can leave, Sherlock is standing nearby.

“I didn’t know you’re here.”

You smile. “That’s a first for you, not knowing where I am. I’m just picking up Mary’s dress. I was just leaving, so you don’t need to worry about entertaining me.” You see his eyes move away from you and towards his music stand. You are scared that he discovers that you saw his hidden tune. Before he could make any deduction you interrupt, “I see that you finished writing the tune.”

“Yes, I think it rather turned out well. Want to hear it?” he offers.

“That’s okay. You’re probably sick of hearing the piece over and over.” 

“Nonsense. I’d love feedback. There is always something to fix.”

“There is also a thing about walking away, letting it be as it is, rather than fussing over it,” you disagree. 

“Yes that’s also true,” he admits. Once he starts playing the tune on his phone he offers his hand to you.

You gladly accept as you two start dancing. He turns and you turn with him, following his steps in rhythm. "You've improved," he compliments.

"I've been practicing," you admit. He smiles. 

"It shows." At the end of the piece, he dips you. He expects to see the same reaction on your face weeks ago, but something is different. Your eyes break his gaze and your cheeks don't tinge. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He brings you back up. The two of you don't move until he wraps his arms around you.

"Thank you. For helping me throughout the planning. I know I can be short sighted and thick, but you've been so patient with me." He leans over and kisses your cheek. As surprised as you are, the feeling is warm and comforting. It's now or never. When he pulls away, you start to tiptoe, ready to kiss him properly. “So Mary tells me that you met the maid of honor. What is she like? She better know how to waltz.” You stop and plant your heels back on the ground.

“She’s nice. Her name is Janine and the topic of dancing never came up.”

“Hmm. Well if I was able to teach you how to dance it’ll be a cinch to teach anyone,” he humors. Disappointed, you let go of him and grab the wedding dress bag.

You put on a smile for Sherlock. “I’m sure you’ll sweep her off her feet.”

When you finally head to Mary's flat, she asks what happened. "He kissed me on the cheek."

“Did you kiss him back?”

You hesitate before answering, "I was about to, but then he started asking about Janine. He ruined the moment." You hide your face with a pillow, embarrassed at the many failed opportunities you’ve had. "Just forget it. Falling for that man was the worst decision I ever made." You hear her laughing through the muffle of the pillow. She grabs the pillow off your face.

"You've known him longer than John or myself, but I've seen how he treats people. He acts the most relaxed whenever he is around you. That's got to mean something. You'll see. He'll come around."

 

You stare at the stars starting to appear in the darkening sky. The garden is now lit by the light of the reception hall. The air is getting colder with each passing minute, but you try your hardest to stay out for as long as you can, until you hear music. The very same music that Sherlock has written. You know what that means. The first dance. You walk into the reception hall, seeing all the guests circled around Mary and John. Making your way through the crowd, you see the two dancing, smiles on their faces. Your eyes make your way to Sherlock, seeing him play the violin. A small smile appear on your face. The smile disappears when you see him toss his flower over to Janine. That seals it. Lock the emotions away with a key and throw it in the fountain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I mentioned "For Her" composition, I was listening to this as a way to describe it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UoU9YLPYhU
> 
> Also, sorry that all of the chapters have flashbacks throughout. I'll try to write one where it stays in the present.


	5. Something Old, Something New

Your green dress billows from the wind as you walk down the rubbled path from the reception. You pull your blue trench coat closer to your body for warmth. Your high heels and bag in your hand jostle as you walk comfortably in your grey high top shoes. Ring. Ring. You stop to pull out your phone. Looking at the number, you scoff and ignore the call. Ring. Ring. “Forget it. He’ll just ask for another favor.” Ignore.

“That isn’t like you to ignore a text, especially from me.” You stop and in your periphery see Sherlock hiding in the shadows.

“Any other person would have smacked you in the mouth for creeping up like that.”

“Well you’re not like any other person.” He sees you in your changed shoes. “Why are you leaving?”

“Why are you?” you wonder as you point to his black trench coat.

“Never liked happy moments. No sense of drama anywhere. Boring. Thought I call it a night.”

Uncertain you say, “You never miss a chance to dance. I’m sure Janine is waiting for you.” Passive aggression is petty, but you can’t help yourself.

“No, she seems to have found a dance partner of her own. Didn’t think she would go for the comic book nerd.” He pauses before he looks you over. “It’s usually polite for the other person to share, so I've been told.”

"Don't be so glib." You sigh and shuffle your feet around the rubble. “I guess all the celebration was too much for me.” He offers his hand to you. “What are you doing?”

“You said I never turn down a dance and I’m sure that you would want to have a chance to show off your moves. Who better to do it with than me?”

You shift in your stance. Everything that has happened in the past, everything that has happened today. All the passing remarks, the loving gestures, the missed opportunities, and the jealousy. Don’t forget his best man speech. All of that leads to this one moment.

“No.”

Stunned, Sherlock repeats, “No?”

“What was today about?” Your arms are crossed. You want answers. No more skirting around.

“Your precision over the English language is impeccable. What are you talking about?” 

“I mean, what was the best man speech about? Especially with imagining how you want to murder me?”

He pulls back his hand. “It’s not a desire. It’s merely exercise. Also, you’re not the only person I do this to. You’re not special.”

You throw your hands up and let the frustration out. “Oh thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

“Does it?”

“Of course not! How the hell did you know about me? My murder is too specific for it to be between friends,” you hesitate. What the hell are you saying? The lack of sensitivity towards murder is proving how much of Sherlock's personality is rubbing off you.

“It’s just logical. No one else would bother with helping me out this much for nothing, especially for the demand I ask.”

“All of my work with the wedding was for Mary and John,” you clarify.

“And for me. Don't forget what you said to me at the diner. You said you'll help out in anyway possible. Whatever I need,” Sherlock corrects. "Let's not forget the way you react when I am in close proximity to you."

"I would react that way to anyone invading my personal bubble. You're not special," you throw back.

He takes your wrist gently in his hand, causing you to drop your things to the ground. "Elevated heartbeat and pupils dilated. Really, people like you and Miss Adler are so predictable," he says.

"Don't you dare compare me to her," you spit out. This was not the way you wanted your feelings to come to light, but it's too late. Better embrace the opportunity with open arms. "Fine. I admit it. Ordinary people would see me crazy falling in love with you, but it's true. Just dash my feelings away gently so I can move on."

Then something odd happens. Expecting a snapping remark, you see his face still, jaw clenching. You have seen this look before back at the diner when he told you he is to be John's best man. "So," he finally speaks, "you love me?"

"Of course I do. For a long time, in fact. Longer than I would like to admit right now. Is it really such a surprise?" you ask. His silence is worrying. In the heat of the moment your clouded mind forgot a few things until now. The blush on his cheeks when he first taught you to dance. The concern in his voice yesterday when you showed little sign of enjoyment. Then there was your murder, well way to end you.

"Kiss," you whisper. Taking advantage of how close you two are, you reach up. Forget being shy. "Poisoned lips," you continue. Your thumb traces his lips as the rest of your hand holds his chin in place. You feel his hands wrap around you. Your hand moves to run through his hair. Sherlock's eyes fluttering closed as his hands grip tighter onto you. Your anger dissipates as the realization wash over your mind. "Sherlock, why did decide on kissing me? John and Mycroft's demises are sneaky, but not mine. Why so direct?"

"You don't deserve an underhanded and painful way to die," Sherlock admits as he leans in. You slowly breathe in his scent, feeling the prickle on your neck as his lips close in. Warmth washes over as he kisses you soundly. This moment. The softness in his lips burns your desire. You have felt incomplete until this moment. This makes up for all the missed moments you had drumming up the courage. He breaks the kiss. Elated, you forgot for a few seconds about what he last said. With eyes widening, you touch your lips. He laughs gently as he kisses your neck. "I would never let anything or anyone harm you if you're going to ask that next," he whispers in your ear. "I thought Piccadilly Circus proved that."

“How long?” you start. “How long did you know?” Sherlock doesn’t answer. “Well aren’t you full of firsts. I’ve been able to shut you up. When, Sherlock?” Still no answer. “Fine. Well since you know, were you ever going to tell me how you felt?”

“I was going to tell you -”

“But you decided to not only let me know but let our friends and total strangers know as well. The real kicker is that you had enough time to use this information to plan out how you would kill me off!”

“Enough time? It took me less than a minute to figure it out. No time was wasted.” The look on your face is enough for him to shut up, regretting the words that came out of his mouth. “That came out wrong. Let's start from the beginning."

"Which beginning is this, Sherlock?"

"Yesterday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking such a long time to get something new onto this story! I hope that you aren't disappointed with this and the future chapters! As always, I will polish it up, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, after or maybe even before I finish this story, I want to see about doing some one-shots within the Sherlock fandom, perhaps in other fandoms like Doctor Who and the Avengers as well. My writing door is open for suggestions and requests if you so wish to have your daydream fantasies played out. :D


	6. Pop the Question

"This tie is the wrong on you," Sherlock grumbles as he stands behind John. The two are inside Sherlock's room facing his mirror. John is staying over for the night as per the request of Mary, the bride to be. However, he immediate regrets this decision. For the past two hours, he has been a mannequin for Sherlock to check over every little detail to his tuxedo. Maybe he can get a hotel room last minute if he can reach the windowsill where his phone sits. He starts to move his arm when Sherlock smacks his hand back down.

"The ties all look the same. You're just being fussy," John huffs. Sherlock takes it away as he examines it.

"There is a fray on the bottom."

"You have a fray on your bottom," John mumbles as he works to put on his waistcoat. "I don't know why I have to put on my suit for you inspect. The tailor did a good job. You were there if you recall."

As Sherlock goes back to fix the necktie around John's neck he answers, "Everything has to be perfect for the wedding. Everything." Sherlock unconsciously clenches his hand.

John picks that up right away. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"What is there to talk about?" Sherlock busies himself brushing John's coat from any lint.

"Oh I don't know. Just noticing a new tick of yours. Clenching your hands like me. You’re nervous about something." Sherlock doesn't speak, trying so hard to focus on his work. John pushes forward letting Sherlock fidget around him. "Alright stay silent. I'll speak then. There has been something off about you. At first I thought it was you getting nervous for having to socialize with people you don't know, feigning small talk. But I see you do that whenever you work on a case, so there must be something else. Everything alright between you and her?" Sherlock looks up at the ambiguous question only to find John staring at a photo sitting at the windowsill. It is a photo of you and Sherlock during your time at university, sitting against a tree with books scattered all around. John sees how the books you two are reading are on your laps, arms wrapped around each other as you both smile for the camera. John can't imagine the time and energy it took you to make the Sherlock back then crack a smile. Sherlock darts his eyes back at the coat.

"Everything is fine. Why wouldn't it be? She's helped me with the wedding this entire time, getting supplies, setting up meetings, trying samples when either you or Mary are out at work. She's been nothing but helpful," Sherlock explains.

"And did she ever ask for a thank you?" John asks.

Sherlock's hand pauses. Thinking back he answers, "She has not. Why would she? She's a friend. That's what friends do."

John tilts his head down in amusement. Ask Sherlock the same question two years ago and he would have insulted him for ever considering other people’s feelings. "Ever noticed anything different about her?"

Sherlock thinks back again. "Well she lost about 10 pounds since she started running again, which explains her added energy and stamina to carry all the table arrangements. She's more irritable probably from abstaining any sweets, and she has not come around as often recently. Not quite sure what that could be. Work I suppose, but she's usually out early depending on the client blathering on about their problems. Unless she's been seeing Mycroft a lot. He loves telling her about his loveless and boring life."

"She visits you often then?"

"Yes. We meet up for lunch almost everyday. The past few weeks though she hasn't been consistent. Like I said, work probably." Sherlock takes the coat and fits it on John.

John smiles. "Funny."

"Is it?" Sherlock asks, not caring to what John is referring to. 

John continues, "She's been visiting Mary and me for lunch everyday the past two weeks. Actually, she has been visiting us quite a lot lately."

"Why would she visit you two? I'm doing all the planning. Unless she decided to help with the bridal shower and the bachelorette party," Sherlock explains.

"Well she has a new boyfriend and probably wanted to chat someone up about him," John answers. He eyes Sherlock's expression, his hand clenching again tightly around the lint brush. He continues, "I guess she's been eyeing him for quite a while now, but he's always been too thickheaded to even notice until now."

"That's idiotic. When did she have time to find a beau?" Sherlock asks.

John answers, "Since when do you care?"

"I don't," Sherlock jabs. "How did they meet?"

John smiles. "They met years ago in school. Started to see each other more lately. They went dancing, went out for Indian food, he even took her out on some murder mysteries for fun."

"Those are always dull. The acting is lackluster at best. They can't even get the blood right," Sherlock complains, completely missing the point. "Her new beau must be compensating for an intelligence he clearly doesn't have."

"Clearly," John reassures.

Sherlock asks, "Have you met him?"

"Oh yes," John answers.

"How is he?" Sherlock asks.

"Honestly?" John warns.

Sherlock puts the brush down and sits on the bed. "Give it a go."

"He is eccentric, like a bohemian. Astute. At times he can be dispassionate and cold. Egotistical and arrogant."

"How can she see any saving grace from a man that terrible?" Sherlock asks.

"Other times, most times, he can be sweet on her. He is fearless when it comes to protecting those who he adores. He strives to be his best whenever she's around." John finishes watching Sherlock contemplate the last bits of info. "Although you know me. Being a romantic." 

"This doesn't make any sense," Sherlock finally answers. He starts pacing around the room as John sits in relief. "She didn't have that many friends back in school. I should know. I was practically with her the entire time. Sure we had out falling out and didn't speak to each other for five years, but that's all behind us." John is in utter disbelief of how slow Sherlock is putting the pieces together. "She has made an excellent addition to solving cases, but the hours we keep aren't conducive to a normal life. That alongside her work would leave her too exhausted to go galavanting around town finding a man," Sherlock expresses with sarcasm. "Especially with someone who's egotistical and dispassionate to treat her right. It's like she would ever date someone like..." His eyes lock on to John's. With the raise of John's eyebrows, Sherlock's eyes widen with surprise. "Me? You think she's talking about me?"

John laughs, "Oh she is right. You are incredibly thick." No one knows Sherlock like he does. Mary owes him a tenner when he sees her again.

Sherlock scoffs, "That's impossible. She told me years ago how she felt about me, and it wasn’t enamoring."

“Exactly how long ago?”

His eyes scanning the photograph like there is a hidden clue. “Years.”

John sees his friend eyeing the photograph again. "People change, Sherlock. You of all people should know that."

"She's my friend, John. Just like you. I’ve barely held a friendship. What makes you think she wants something more? Especially with me. I’ve been nothing but a mess,” Sherlock admits. 

"When I first met you, I assumed you were a complete arse for being so arrogant and dismissive of anyone. I've learned the hard way that it's everyone else that's made you this way. They don't understand your eccentricities. I thought I was the only one who saw that. You even said back at Baskerville that you don't have friends. Just the one. I assumed you were referring to me, until I met her. Since then, I have seen you lighten up. I've seen how she acts around you. It’s true that you have a friend. Me. So the question is, what does she mean to you?"

Sherlock is left speechless. He opens his mouth only to close it at the sounds of paper shuffling and feet stomping outside the room. “Who could that be? Mrs. Hudson always watches her stories around this time, and never comes out for at least another two hours.”

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” John explains. “Of course, these are your words,” he points out.


	7. Something Borrowed, Something Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind the clock to when you and Sherlock are in his flat. He confesses his side of the story as you listen.

I stepped into the hallway. Knowing that you were the only one to come to the flat in this hour, there was no good way to approach you. Then I heard you, humming a tune. My tune. You never gave yourself the chance to sing in front of people. Such a shame. You out sing any bird that coos in the morning sunlight. In that moment I couldn't help but question, "Could you see me that way as I see in you? Someone good? Could I be a good man for you?"

Of course this musing was short lived. John chuckled from behind, his hand on the door knob. In that moment, he mouthed, "Good luck," and proceeded to shut the door. Assuming you were completely alone in your thoughts, the sound spooked you, and you tried your best to cover up any guilt of seeing my music.

No other time like the present, I walked into the living room. You were flushed in the face with guilt, standing in front of the music stand, as if giving way to other deeds done.

You blurted out, "I didn't know you were here." Of course that was a lie. Your twitching fingers gave it away, always twitching when you are nervous. I had to be sure it was of guilt.

My eyes trailed towards the music stand. You instinctively moved an inch closer. I thought I taught you better than to telegraph your emotions like that. Guilt and shame are labeled all over in a single move.

You covered, "I see that you finished writing the tune." Slight admission for peeking at the music to validate future accusations of seeing the other music. I had to see if what you were insinuating was true.

I offered, "Want to hear it?"

You shifted in your stance, backing away a little. It appeared you were disgusted with my request. Although my deduction could still point to you being alone, I needed more questions answered before confirmation.

I retorted, "Nonsense. I'd love feedback. There is always something to fix." The bait: try to equate the music piece with myself. It could be good to get your perspective using a lighter metaphor. See how you react.)

You answered, "There is also something about walking away, letting it be as it is, rather than fussing over it." From this, I discerned you didn't want to fix something, or someone like myself if it's not worth saving.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hang on!" you stop. The two of you are lying on the grass outside of the reception hall. Before Sherlock started explaining himself, he nicked a blanket from a nearby porch. You snuck out a bottle of champagne and two flute glasses. The techno blares through the windows, muffled in the night air. "Is that what you really thought I meant?"

Sherlock got up, leaning his body on his arm to face you. "Of course. By making your opinion know what you deem a lost cause is not worth saving anymore." He pours more champagne into your glasses. "Now you asked when I was going to tell you how I feel. No more interruptions."

You down a bit of the champagne. "That didn't mean hearing a play by play of the events. I was there too you know."

Sherlock kisses your forehead. "It's all important to the story. Now let me finish."

You mutter, "It's the best man speech all over again."

"Hush," Sherlock lightly reminds. "Now where was I?"

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After you made your thoughts known, a part of me started accepting them to be true. "Yes, that's also true." John was so sure a few minutes ago, but even he can be wrong sometimes. Still, I persisted in the conversation. Nothing to do now but to play the piece, even though you looked through it already.

However, you accepted my hand to dance. Holding you close to me, feeling our bodies synchronize to the meter and rhythm of the music. It's something I never wanted to let go. "You've improved," I couldn't help but compliment.

You mused, "I've been practicing." But with who? How would you practice by yourself. You must have someone to practice. Jealousy rears its ugly head.

Still I persisted. "It shows," I pushed. I had to be sure. One last attempt: the dip. I graciously held onto the memory of the last time we danced. The trips, the slight falls, the dip. I wanted to chase that feeling again, but it was not the same. Your eyes darted away, locked to the side. Your pupils did not dilate like the last time. Things were different, no matter what happened. It was sealed. I now knew you were not to be mine. So I held it in. Almost.

If this was going to be my last chance to be this close to you, to know someone in your future will hold you like I wanted to hold you, I'm taking as much time as possible. Feeling you in my arms was something I will never forget. Your warmth was unlike any other. "Thank you." I had to say. Not just for the dance. Or for help with the wedding. But thank you for being there for me. And the kiss. If I were to never express how I felt in words, I did so in my actions. These actions were my proclamation and my resignation to your happiness.

But then, it changed. Your smile, bright and effervescent. Your blush, rosy and warm. Was there something there after all? I saw you get close, your eyes flickered over to my lips. John was right. You did have feelings for me like I with you. My brain wanted to let you show me how you felt back. My brain wanted me to tell you how I felt after.

Impulse. Out of surprise, awkwardness, and nervousness, the first thing out of my mouth, but not from my mind, was this name. "Janine"

You backed off of course. Quite reasonable. I would too if a moment like that was ruined by a muck up. Your expression changed greatly. Even your eyebrows did that furrow when you are especially peeved, like whenever Anderson talks, or when I blather on for too long. Yeah, like the one your doing now.

After I idiotically mentioned Janine, the last thing I remember seeing is your smile. A smile.

"I'm sure you'll sweep her off your feet," you said. Then that smile. You made all the features, but it was empty behind it all. I know because I smile like that for cases. That smile you showed me was not my smile. I never want you to give me that smile ever again. Even if it takes me a long time, All I wanted to do is get that genuine smile back and me be the reason for it.

After you left, I crumpled to the couch, my hands holding my heavy head, replaying every part of the conversation.

John came out when the timing was right. "So how did it go?"

I grumbled, "You had your ear to the door. You know exactly how it went."

John sat down next to him. "Yes I did. I heard it all."

Finally lifting my head up I asked, "How did it go?"

John chuckles, "Honestly?"

I exasperate, "Give it a go."

John leans forward as he explains, "You did your best telling her how you felt, in your own Sherlock way."

I didn't like the answer he gave me. Running through my hair out of frustration, I disagree, "But she missed the point."

John points out, "But you got her near the end. You were so close to sealing it when -"

"When I ruined it." Sitting never felt so wrong until now, pacing back and forth while John sat there, stoic as ever.

John had to ask, "Why did you bring up Janine?"

"I panicked."

John swerved over to me. "So you didn't want her to...finish the deed."

I blurt out, "I wanted her to. I just panicked thinking-"

John finishes, "That you would be terrible."

I had to stop. "That I wouldn't be good enough for her. She deserves normal and stability. Someone that can take her out for Italian, see a movie, walk in the park."

John, ever consoling, placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "All I'm saying is this. If she is really how you described her, she would have done that by now. But she hasn't which could mean one thing."

I tried to keep it light, "She would rather get Chinese?"

John says, "She finds all of that boring. You know what she wants based on the company she keeps. She wants action, mystery, suspense. She wants -"

I realized, "Me."

John retorts with a bit of laughter, "Well I was going to say a more exciting life, but yeah. All of that wrapped in a trench coat."

"So what do I do now?" I never thought I would be in this position before, to have someone care for me.

John answers, "Well if I were you, I would first enjoy a stag night out, and then figure out how not to incorporate any other woman when confessing your feelings for her."


End file.
